


Easier to be Played

by scatterglory



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-13
Updated: 2010-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-06 06:00:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatterglory/pseuds/scatterglory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"And the thing about a game is . . .you can stop playing when it's not fun anymore. "</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for the [Shakespearean Quote Fic Challenge](http://community.livejournal.com/words_fly_up/). Spoilers for "Inferno."

**Easier to be Played, Part 1**

"Do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe?"  
\--Hamlet

* * *

_Finally. _ Rodney let a breath out from between clenched teeth as the gate flashed off. He'd not bothered to wave goodbye, figuring the bodies of everyone around him would shield his lack of participation in the send-off. Everyone started to leave, and Rodney was the first out of the gateroom.

_I thought they'd never leave. _

Not that it hadn't been pleasant at first, having the Tarani stay on Atlantis; it's not as though there'd been a lack of space, after all. But Rodney could only take so much of an utterly-clueless-yet-obviously-trying-so-hard scientist-in-training wandering around his lab before he snapped. Luckily, Norina's . . . personality . . . had initially compensated for her tendency to be exactly where he didn't want her almost every time he turned around.

_ But "hot" will only get you so far. Hot with brains will get you a lot farther. _ He'd liked her a lot more before he'd caught himself comparing her to Samantha Carter almost continuously; no doubt about it, Norina just couldn't compete. _ And while the obvious worship of a beautiful girl is . . . appealing . . . it's really no match for uninterrupted work time. _

There was also the fact that though Norina had worshiped his scientific prowess, that had been the extent of her interest in him.

_ Norina's not the only one who can't compete. _ He sighed. From the beginning, he'd known it was hopeless.

_ They just could have kept it out of the lab, that's all. _

Much to Rodney's annoyance—annoyance which he was patently bad at concealing, and whose targets were patently good at ignoring—Norina's presence in the lab had drawn Sheppard there like a hive ship to a newly-industrialized planet. Under the pretense of "helping you guys out with that new Ancient stuff," Sheppard had been hovering around the lab for weeks, watching indulgently as his latest conquest had followed Rodney around like a disciple. Rodney wasn't sure what had been more aggravating—the fact that Sheppard hadn't been threatened in the least by Norina's behavior around Rodney, or the fact Rodney was almost grateful to her for ensuring that Sheppard was around whenever Rodney wanted to experiment with the Ancient devices.

_ Of course it's like pulling teeth to get him in here when there's not an adorable little blonde in a low-cut dress scampering around. . . _

That was what had hurt, honestly. Sheppard always complained when Rodney wanted him to come down to the lab, but for Norina . . .

_ It's not like we've been working together for over two years, or we're friends or anything. _

Rodney had made it back to his—blissfully!—empty lab, and sat down at the computer. He turned it on, but only stared at the screen.

_ It's not like we'd just started to actually spend time together that didn't involve near-death situations and/or grievous bodily harm. _

Rodney had always prided himself on his utter lack of dependency issues. Growing up as a genius was a pretty good guarantee that you'd need to be damned self-sufficient; he could count the number of real friends he'd had on his fingers, and the number of friends who weren't scientists on one hand. So when he'd actually started hanging out with Sheppard off-duty, he'd been fairly pleased—it would be nice to have someone besides Carson to spend leisure time with. And even with Carson, Rodney didn't ever really relax—Carson could handle Rodney to a point, but after that . . . Sheppard, on the other hand, gave as good as he got.

_ Then in comes Blondie, and out goes Rodney. _

It had taken a good number of foul moods and bitching out innocent bystanders before Rodney'd been able to admit that he was jealous of Norina. He still thought that was amusing, in a gut-wrenchingly painful way—_ Aren't you usually supposed to be jealous of your friend because he got the girl, not jealous of the girl because she got your friend? _ He'd never really been jealous like this before; definitely not with Sheppard, at least. _ Well, that whole thing with Chaya, but that was only because she gave me a weird vibe . . . and then there were those descendants of the Ancients, but they were polite enough to Ascend before it could be a real issue . . . _

No, it had really just been with Norina, and only because she'd taken_ so much _ of Sheppard's time. _ But now that she's gone, we'll be able to get back to business as usual . . . _ He'd already begun to plan when he'd let Sheppard overhear him complain about flying lessons; without exception, Sheppard would get that infuriating half-smile of his and suggest that _ if_ Rodney would just learn to coax rather than abuse the puddlejumper, he'd actually like flying . . . of course, Rodney would snap that even a cognitive deficient like Sheppard should be able to see that there was nothing wrong with the way he handled the controls, and Sheppard would laugh and call his bluff and then they'd be flying to the mainland, or through the Stargate, bantering back and forth as Rodney resolutely refused to show how much fun he was having.

* * *

Rodney glared at the marine sitting next to him. "There's obviously something wrong with this one, that's all. I'm used to flying Colonel Sheppard's; his handles so much better!" he snapped as the man next to him turned green. "For the love of—! Hello! Inertial dampeners!"

But the dampeners couldn't block out the sight of the mainland spiraling away underneath them. Rodney glowered. His plan had—obviously!—been less than successful; Sheppard had heard him complaining and recruited one of his men to fly with Rodney while he went to help the Tarani people "settle in" to their new home.

"I think that's good," gasped the marine, reaching for the controls.

"I couldn't agree more," Rodney muttered under his breath as the puddlejumper turned back towards the city.

* * *

Rodney had refused to ask Sheppard how the Tarani were doing, and had gone out of his way to avoid him for the rest of the day. Sheppard hadn't seemed to notice, and not even the blue jello in the mess hall had soothed Rodney's ruffled feelings. He sat in his room, feeling dejected and angry—angry at himself for letting someone else get to him. With a frustrated sigh, he stripped out of his uniform and got ready for bed.

_ Tap tap tap. _

"Go away," he shouted from the bathroom.

"McKay?"

_ Shit. _ Rodney grimaced and walked over to the door. _ Thank god I'm not in my pajamas yet. _

"Yes?" he snapped. Sheppard was leaning in the doorframe, still in uniform. "What can I do for you, Colonel?"

"Uh. Well, can I come in?" Without waiting for an answer, he took a step forward.

And swayed.

Rodney put a hand out to steady him. He could smell the alcohol radiating out from his pores. "You're drunk," he stated.

"Yeah. Big celep-celb—big party with T'rani."

"I see. So you thought you'd just come over here till you sobered up?" Rodney wasn't sure if he was insulted or flattered.

"Naw, 's just, we haven't hung out for 'while, 'n I didn't think you'd be busy . . ."

_ We're going with insulted. Like I have nothing better to do than wait around for him to decide we should hang out! _ Rodney resolutely ignored the fact that he'd been doing just that . . .

"For your information, Colonel, I have a lot to do tomorrow, and I need to get some sleep—"

"Rodney."

Something in Sheppard's tone shut him up. "What?"

Sheppard looked directly at him. " 'M sorry 'bout Norina. I knew you liked her, but I didn't think you liked her that much . . ."

"What? No! I didn't—I mean, she was a lovely girl, but I wasn't—" He could feel himself blushing.

"Really?" Sheppard gave him a sharp look. "Then why—?"

_ Definitely blushing. _ "I—uh—" He couldn't meet Sheppard's eyes.

_ Awkward silence, awkward silence, awkward silence . . . _

He risked a glance at Sheppard's face . . .

. . . just as Sheppard ducked his head and kissed him full on the mouth.

"Mmmf!" Rodney's eyes shot open—he shoved Sheppard away, hard. "What the hell was that?"

Sheppard stumbled back, and looked confused. "I thought—"

"What? You thought that if I wasn't into Norina, I must be into you?" Rodney's voice cracked.

"Uh—"

_ Wait. Is he—no. Dammit. _ Rodney glared at the pilot. "Say something."

"Like what?"

"Name and rank."

"Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard," came the automatic reply.

Rodney's eyes narrowed. "You're. Not. Drunk."

Sheppard's mouth fell open. "Uh. Well—"

"What the hell is this? Some kind of game? Are Teyla and Ronon out in the hall laughing? Or is Zelenka taping this from a hidden camera? Hi, Elizabeth!" Rodney shouted at the ceiling, knowing he sounded hysterical, not caring at all . . .

"What? No, it's not—Rodney, I'm sorry—"

"Get out!"

"I—"

"Out!" Rodney was way past hysterical and approaching pissed. Sheppard gave up, shot him a terribly hurt look, and beat a prudent retreat. Rodney's anger melted away, leaving him confused, upset and completely exhausted. He collapsed onto his bed and buried his face in his hands. "If anyone finds out about this, I'm going to _murder _ him. . ."

* * *

Only the fear of arousing suspicion got him out of bed the next morning. He'd slept terribly, tossing and turning amidst fragmented dreams that melted into a vague sense of disquiet each time his eyes snapped open in the dark. Only after three cups of coffee did he feel ready to report in, and he was the last to reach Elizabeth's office . . .

The mission was a run-of-the-mill reconn: take the puddlejumper out to an unvisited Gate address and see if there was anything/anyone worth investigating; come back and report before making contact. Rodney studied his half-empty fourth cup of coffee with great care as Elizabeth spoke, but he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck raise each time Sheppard glanced over at him.

_ Don't look up. _ Rodney clenched his teeth. _ Nothing's wrong, nothing's weird, he didn't kiss you last night . . . _

"Rodney?" Weir's voice was quizzical. Rodney glanced up. Everyone else had left the office.

"Yes. Elizabeth. Of course. I'm ready."

She gave him a strange look, but said nothing as he hurried off after the other members of his team.

* * *

"Would you just relax, McKay? It's not gonna bite you!" The words were familiar, but Sheppard's tone was strained. Rodney held the controls in a death grip, eyes burning a hole through the puddlejumper's window.

"I'm doing fine," he said from between clenched teeth. He heard Sheppard sigh, but the other man stayed quiet. Rodney risked a glance; Sheppard was also staring straight ahead, tension written all over his back and shoulders.

_ This isn't awkward. Heavens, no. _ Behind them, he could almost feel Teyla and Ronon's confused glances; well, Teyla's, anyway; he'd be surprised if that overgrown barbarian would notice anything less than the two of them starting to make out right there . . . _ Which we are_ not _going to think about—!_ The puddlejumper dipped suddenly, and Sheppard jerked forward. "Watch it, McKay!"

"Yes, yes, I know," Rodney snapped. "Straight line and all that." Sheppard glared at him, and didn't relax at all. _ This is going to be a long mission . . . _

* * *

By the time they returned to Atlantis, Rodney's nerves were raw and even Ronon had begun to pick up on the tension. Rodney exited the gateroom quickly—_Sheppard can handle the debriefing alone, dammit_—and sought refuge in the lab. The other scientists, used to his temper, gave him plenty of room, which both mollified and angered him. _ Watch out for the temperamental genius . . . at least Sheppard looks about as bad as I feel. People aren't used to him being upset, either; at least no one looks twice at me when I'm out of sorts. . . huh. I don't think I've ever seen him this upset, actually. _

His lips pressed together in something like a smile. _ It serves him right. He's always so cool; it's about time he has to deal with something he can't take in stride. _

Part of him—a very small part, the part that gave him a twinge whenever he made an underling cry—felt slightly guilty at this, but the rest of him promptly sat on it. _ I made Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard lose his cool. Hah. _

* * *

The next day found them on their stomachs in the dense undergrowth of a forest.

"Next time I say ix-nay on the eePM-zay, I mean don't mention the goddamn ZPM!" Sheppard hissed at Rodney. Teyla and Ronon were safely back in the puddlejumper; somehow they'd managed to avoid the ravening mob calling for the blood of the grave robbers entirely. Sheppard and Rodney had not been so lucky.

"They think this forest's haunted; we'll be fine!" Rodney hissed back.

"We're damned lucky they do! Those knives of theirs are practically broadswords!"

"Oh, so this is all my fault! Who was it who decided to ignore Elizabeth's recommendation that we wait for Lorne and his team to come in before we started negotiating—"

Rodney broke off in mid-tirade. Sheppard's face was inches away from his, and they were staring at each other with twin expressions of annoyance and pique—all of a sudden, the undergrowth was far too concealing and Rodney almost wished that the mob would stumble onto them. He could feel Sheppard's breath, hot on his face . . .

The moment ended. Sheppard tore his eyes away. "I think they're gone . . ."

"Excellent."

Bent double, they snuck away as quietly as they could.

* * *

Rodney finished his coffee with regret as he entered the lab. The flight back to Atlantis had been another episode of "Tension: the Sheppard &amp; McKay Show," and all he wanted was the comfortable, familiar, _Sheppard-free_ stress of his precious lab . . .

"If you would put your hands there, please, yes, that is good, and now think about making it work—" Zelenka placed Sheppard's hands on the new gadget he'd found, and stepped back. Rodney winced. _It figures. _ Torn between wanting to get the hell out of there and the stubborn refusal to relinquish _his_ lab, he watched Sheppard's back glumly. The pilot's shoulders were hunched up, and he held the thing firmly.

"It's not working."

"I see that, yes, so please think harder, hmm?"

Sheppard sighed.

Nothing happened again.

"I don't think I'm going to get this one," he complained. "And I really want to get out of here before McKay gets back." Ignoring Zelenka's raised eyebrows, he put the Ancient artifact down on the desk, turned to leave—and froze. Rodney somehow managed to remain expressionless—_If you didn't want to run into me, why did you agree to come down here in the first place?_ Sheppard's lips thinned, and he didn't continue his exit.

Zelenka looked annoyed. "If you would try once more, please? And concentrate this time?"

Sheppard shot Rodney a dark look. "I _am_ concentrating," he snarled. He picked the thing up again, and . . .

Nothing.

Zelenka sighed in defeat. "Ah. Well. Thank you, Colonel." The Czech turned away from the desk, dismissing the failures of both device and power switch simultaneously.

Sheppard glared at Rodney again. Rodney stared him down. _I have no idea what you're playing at, but it's got to end._ "You weren't concentrating," he said in a low voice.

"Go to hell." Sheppard started to walk around him towards the door. Rodney put a hand on his chest, and he stopped in his tracks.

"Try again," he said. His eyes locked on Sheppard's. Sheppard gave him an angry look, and opened his mouth to snap back—

Rodney rubbed his hand in a slow circle on Sheppard's chest, just once._ If you thought I was distracting before. . ._ "Try again," he said, lowering his voice even more.

Sheppard's breath caught in his chest. His mouth moved soundlessly. Their eyes met, locked—

The device leapt up from the table and shot through the air, ricocheting off the far wall before shattering into a thousand glowing pieces on the floor.

Zelenka yelped. "What did you do?"

"He concentrated," said Rodney in a flat tone. Sheppard's mouth snapped shut, and he fled the lab.

Rodney helped a dejected Zelenka recover the useless shards-of-Artifact. He made all the right sympathetic noises (and being that he was Dr. Rodney McKay, grade-A Unsympathetic Ass, that wasn't saying much) but his ears were filled with the sound of a sharply-indrawn breath and his palm tingled with the memory of a frantic heartbeat under his hand.

* * *

He tried to work, to fill his mind with the infuriating brilliance of the Ancients, but in a hideous mockery of his flying lessons, his thoughts did nothing but fly exactly where he didn't want them. . .

By night, he was exhausted with the effort of _not thinking about it, thank you very much . . . _ He was finally in bed and almost asleep, when . . .

Tap tap tap.

_ If I don't answer, it will go away. _

Thud thud thud.

_ Any second now . . . _

Wham! Wham! Wham!

Cursing to himself, Rodney threw off the blankets and stormed over to the door. _ This had better not be—_

Sheppard pushed his way into the room without waiting for permission.

"McKay. We have to talk." Sheppard's shirt was stained with sweat and he was breathing rapidly. _ He's been running—?_

"It's the middle of the night—!"

"It can't wait." Sheppard whirled around, and began to pace. "I'm sorry about what happened the other night; I was out of line."

"Apology accepted, and yes you were," Rodney said stiffly. _ Will you leave now? _

"I'm not done. It was wrong of me to assume . . . anything . . . and I won't make that mistake again, but dammit—!" He faced Rodney squarely. "What the hell was that trick in the lab?"

Rodney hid his surprise. _ So. That _was _ my fault. Interesting . . . _ "Oh. That. I just wanted to see—" _ See what?_ "—if you had been serious—"

Sheppard looked at him, incredulity splashed over his face. "You were testing me?"

_Yes._ "Maybe."

Sheppard was floored. "You really think I would play games like—?" He shook his head. "Listen, McKay, you're crazy. But we have to work together, so here's the deal. I can hold up my end of a working relationship, but you've got to stop testing me or it's never going to fly. If you want, we can get you on another team—" He paused.

Rodney ignored his last statement. "You weren't playing me?"

"No!" Sheppard exploded. "Jesus, McKay, I don't play games! I just—" He stopped.

"You just what?"

"I just . . . I thought you were interested and I . . ." He looked so uncomfortable that Rodney almost smiled.

Almost. "What in the _hell_ made you think I was interested?"

Sheppard looked torn between chagrin and irritation. "Come _on,_ McKay! You're always badgering me to come to your damn lab, and I know you don't waste you off-hours with just anyone . . . and you acted so weird around Norina, but then you said you weren't interested in her at all! What the hell was I supposed to think?"

"Not that."

John ran a hand through his already-mussed hair. "Yeah. Yeah, that was stupid. Wishful thinking, I guess. I didn't really think the whole no-fraternization thing applied to civilians, and we started spending time together, just the two of us . . . " Sheppard realized he was babbling, and shut up.

Rodney regarded him seriously. "Hmm."

"What?"

_ There really aren't many options around here. _ "Maybe I am." _ And it's been a very long time. If he's not playing me . . . _

Sheppard gave him a look. "Excuse me?"

_. . . maybe I can play him. _ Rodney took a step forward, stopping so that their bodies almost touched. "I said, maybe I am." He raised his hand slightly, and ran it down Sheppard's side. "Interested."

Sheppard looked at him, eyes brown and naked and full of suspicion. "So what, all of a sudden you're not freaking out anymore—?"

_It can't be all that different, right?_ Rodney put his thumb to Sheppard's lips, brushing over them experimentally. _Sex is sex._ Sheppard stopped breathing and stood perfectly still, as if the slightest movement would shatter this fragile moment . . .

Then he made a small, desperate noise in the back of his throat and closed the short distance between their bodies, wrapping his arms around Rodney and pressing their mouths together.

Rodney's eyes focused on the wall just over Sheppard's head, and he paid close attention to the feelings running over his body . . . _ This is—new. And strange. But—okay. _

Sheppard's mouth was soft, his tongue was darting, eager but restrained, and his hands running up and down Rodney's back were certain, sure . . . Rodney's body responded to sensations he hadn't felt since before Atlantis . . .

_ More than okay. Yeah. This is good. _ Sheppard's mouth left Rodney's and began to work its way down his neck, sending shivers up and down Rodney's spine. _ It's been way too long . . . _ Since he'd been touched, or kissed—he couldn't even remember her name, or how they met; only that she'd been pretty, smart, and fairly boring . . .

_ This—isn't boring. _ Sheppard nipped at his neck, and Rodney gasped. He could feel Sheppard, hard, rubbing against him and he brought his arms up and placed them lightly around Sheppard's waist. Sheppard's head was in the crook of his neck; his hands fell to Rodney's waistband.

"Oh God," he moaned, low in the back of his throat. "I—I want—"

"Yes?" Rodney's voice was breathy--_Shit. Not yet—I can't—_. "What do you want?" he asked, nervously.

Sheppard moaned again and pushed Rodney backwards, down, onto the bed. He kissed Rodney again, hard, deep, as his hands found the drawstring of Rodney's pants and pulled them down.

"I've wanted to do this for a long time," he whispered into Rodney's mouth.

_ What? Do what? _ Rodney thought dazedly, as Sheppard's warm mouth left his—_ Oh God! _

Sheppard's hand closed over his cock as his mouth traveled down Rodney's neck again. Rodney moaned and arched up. _Shit shit shit—_

Then Sheppard's mouth moved again, replacing his hand, and Rodney saw stars. _ God—he's—obviously done this before! _ He writhed under Sheppard's hands, arched up into his mouth—he looked down, once, and hazily noticed that Sheppard was rocking back and forth, jerking himself off even as he worked on Rodney. _ That's—really—_

Rodney couldn't hold out any longer; with a cry he came, arching up off the bed almost painfully as shudders wracked his body. Sheppard moaned a split second later, his mouth convulsing around Rodney's relaxing cock, and the two of them collapsed in a heap on the bed.

_ That—that was not like last time._ "Wow." Rodney said.

"Yeah." Sheppard chuckled and buried his face in Rodney's neck. Wrapping his arms around Rodney, he sighed, stretched, and promptly fell asleep.

Rodney felt sleep pressing down on his eyelids, but he couldn't give in just yet. _ I just got the best blowjob of my life. From a man. From Sheppard. God, this'll be fun tomorrow. _

* * *


	2. Easier to be Played

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And the thing about a game is . . . you can stop playing when it's not fun anymore. "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd, because I don't know anyone (want to fix that? :P). Hopefully, there aren't any glaring grammatical errors.

** Easier to be Played, Part 2 **

"Do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe?"  
\--Hamlet

* * *

Rodney woke up the next morning with Sheppard's arms around him, and winced. _ Oh. Right. _ Okay, so his Weirdness Radar was having a field day with this one. Moving carefully, he extricated himself from the sleeping pilot and fled to the bathroom. Leaning over the sink, he looked at himself in the mirror. _ This'll do wonders for our working relationship, _ he sighed to himself, splashing water on his face.

Sheppard woke after—Thank God!—he'd finished getting dressed. He smiled sleepily at Rodney, and stretched. "Morning," he said, looking supremely content.

"Yes. Morning. It is." Rodney fumbled. _ What do you say in this situation? Thanks for the blowjob; I'm not usually gay, but it's been a while and any port in a storm—? _ He jumped as the radio he held crackled. _ Saved! _

"McKay?" It was Elizabeth.

"McKay here." Sheppard was still grinning at him in an entirely discomfitting way.

"Could you report to my office? I'd like to discuss yesterday's mission with your entire team . . . and if you see Colonel Sheppard, drag him along? His radio's off . . . "

"Right. Will do. I'll be there soon." He eyed the pilot, who was sitting up and yawning. "And I'll see if I can track down Sheppard."

* * *

Surprise, surprise—Elizabeth wanted to keep trying to establish good relations with the death-to-grave-robbers people. She claimed she felt guilty for "upsetting their culture," but Rodney knew she wanted a chance to look at that ZPM just as badly as he did. While she'd never admit it, they really were running out of options, and thievery was a good deal better than death-by-shield-failure in the next inevitable confrontation with the Wraith.

To Rodney's relief, however, she wasn't sending them back to the planet; she decided Lorne's team would fare better, seeing as they hadn't been driven off at swordpoint yet. The meeting was fairly brief, just a clarification of some details and a bit of brainstorming, but by the time it was through, Rodney was famished. It didn't take more than a suggestion before all four teammates were heading off to the mess hall. Sheppard stayed uncomfortably close to Rodney; the scientist frowned to himself. _ Clingy, much? Fine. If you're going to cling, I'm going to mess with you. _

"I don't understand how you can be so hungry all the time, McKay. You never do anything active," Ronon commented, observing Rodney's loaded tray.

"For your information, I've gotten plenty of _exercise_ recently," Rodney replied calmly.

Sheppard choked on his drink. Teyla gave him a worried look.

"We _ did_ have to run for our lives, yesterday," Rodney continued smoothly as Ronon clapped Sheppard on the back.

"That's right. We did. Lots of running," Sheppard said as his face regained its normal color. Rodney grinned to himself.

"Of course, we could have avoided all the _ sweat _ and _ exertion _ if you'd been able to keep from _ blowing _ the whole thing," he said nonchalantly.

Sheppard made a noise somewhere between a cough and a squeak.

"Are you two all right—?" asked Teyla, concern in her voice.

"Oh, we're fine. I just don't enjoy situations in which perfectly . . . _ horrible . . . _ things could be done to me at any time." Rodney turned his attention to his meal as Sheppard hurriedly excused himself and went off in search of another glass of water.

* * *

Rodney hadn't really been sure what to expect—honestly, he'd been perfectly awful all day, casting both insults and insinuations at Sheppard with equal frequency every time they encountered each other. So when he heard a knock on his door that night, he was a bit surprised.

"I didn't know if you'd be back," he began, answering the door.

"Shut up," said Sheppard, pushing him inside.

"Eager, much?" Rodney asked as Sheppard propelled him onto the bed and attacked his mouth.

"It's—" Sheppard said around kisses, "your fault." He pushed Rodney's shirt up. "Didn't know you had it in you."

"Please." Rodney gasped at Sheppard's hands explored his entire body. "I'm a scientist. Maturity level of a 7th grade chess champ."

"Mmm."

Then Sheppard's mouth was on his neck, and Sheppard's knee was between his legs, and they were both reduced to moaning and rubbing against each other . . .

"God, Rodney," Sheppard's voice was high and breathy as he nuzzled Rodney's stomach. "I—I want—"

"What?"

"I want you."

"Uh—"

"In me."

Rodney's eyes flew open. "Ah—uh, I've never—ungh—never done—"

"Please, Rodney," Sheppard begged, pressing their hips together and grinding hard.

Rodney bit back a cry. "Yeah—yeah—just—God!"

Then somehow they were getting out of their clothes, touching frantically as they shed all barriers between their skin. . . and Sheppard had a tube of something slick and wet and Rodney couldn't think, couldn't speak, couldn't do anything but feel the heat and the fire of their bodies against each other as Sheppard closed around him and they fell into a hard rhythm that grew faster and faster and Sheppard was moaning, low in the back of his throat and convulsing around Rodney as he came, and Rodney cried out and buried his face in Sheppard's neck and they were both shaking and covered in sweat and sex and tangled together on the bed.

Sheppard's eyes were glazed with the aftermath of sex, and he pressed up against Rodney. Their legs were still intertwined, and Sheppard put his arm around Rodney's chest and his lips against Rodney's ear . . .

"What?" Rodney froze. _ I can't have heard that right . . . he didn't just say . . . _

He looked at Sheppard, panicked, but the pilot was already asleep. _ No. Not good. Not good. Sex is fine . . . okay, sex is great, but not this—I can't handle this—it's a game; it's _only _ a game. I'm just playing a game—_

He fell asleep before he could complete the thought.

* * *

Rodney woke up in Sheppard's arms. He had a momentary feeling of . . . something, something warm and quiet and safe . . . before the night before came rushing back. He stiffened and swallowed; he had to get away, go somewhere, anywhere—! but he didn't want Sheppard waking up and . . .

The pilot stirred, smiled, opened his eyes slowly. "Hey."

"Uh. Hello."

Sheppard ducked his head and nuzzled Rodney's shoulder—_Okay, way outside the comfort zone! _ —and Rodney was up and out of bed and in the bathroom before Sheppard had a chance to speak—"Wow, would you look at the time? It's so late, we'd better hurry if we're going to get anything done today; I wonder if Elizabeth's tried to reach us yet about how Lorne's team did yesterday—" He shot a glance back to the bed. Sheppard had raised himself up on his elbows, and was watching him with a bemused and slightly hurt expression. "Rodney—"

_ Shit. _ "Look, _ Sheppard,_"—he took care to emphasize the last name—_ and we're_ not_ thinking about his face right now—_ "we're really, really, late—we can talk about . . . things . . . later, okay?" He shut the bathroom door without making eye contact, and didn't come out until he heard his door hiss open and shut several minutes later.

* * *

They had indeed been running late, and so when he and Sheppard arrived—seperately—in Elizabeth's office, everyone else had already heard. Lorne's team had done wonders. Not only had they managed to convince the village that the Atlanteans were not a warlike race of plundering conquerors (though Rodney wondered how well they'd have done if Ronon had been with them) but they had successfully apologized on behalf of Rodney's team. In fact, the villagers were now offering Rodney's team a chance to tour the ruins, a sort of sorry-we-tried-to-kill-you gesture that everyone was eager to take advantage of.

They loaded into the puddlejumper and were back through the gate less than two hours after Rodney and Sheppard had woken up; two hours which had done absolutely nothing for Rodney's peace of mind. He couldn't even look at Sheppard as the other man flew, and not even the fear of rumor could galvanize him to break the ice. Teyla tried in vain to engage them in a conversation, but Rodney had no patience with news of the upcoming Athosian harvest festival, and Sheppard was monosyllabic at best.

The villagers were as friendly now as they had been ravening before, and over the hike to the ruins, Sheppard unbent enough to be a Commendable Representative of Atlantis. Rodney played his Aloof Scientist card and avoided the Colonel, staring so hard at the scanner that he almost ran into Ronon when they stopped.

The "ruins" were a system of caves that seemed to have been a minor outpost before geological shifts and time had intervened. None of the machinery seemed whole or functional; Rodney was disappointed, but not surprised. The villagers led them through the passages into the hillside, bringing them to a closed metal door. Muscling it open—obviously the power needed to operate the automatic opening mechanism was nonexistent—they ushered the Atlanteans inside.

_ Oh—my. This is . . . unexpected. _ The room was completely intact, and bore a striking resemblance to the chair room in the Antarctica base back on Earth. Rodney took readings frantically, but there was no activity.

"Sheppard—why don't you see if you can—" Rodney broke off as a dull glow began to emanate from the walls. The villagers looked around in surprise as the room grew lighter.

"Oh yeah." Rodney grinned. "This is excellent! It's exactly like—"

"Demon!" shrieked a villager. There was a moment of absolure silence. Then—swords! and they were ringed in, and the villagers surged forward, cutting them off from Sheppard—

Ronon and Teyla went berserk, but the villagers managed to knock the guns out of their hands almost instantly and there wasn't enough room for hand-to-hand combat, and where were they taking Sheppard? Rodney craned his neck to pear through the melee, stopping with shock as the sharp point of a sword pressed against his stomach. Teyla and Ronon had also been subdued, and were glaring at their captors with expressions that made Rodney shudder.

The man holding the sword to his stomach was unfazed. "March," he snarled.

They marched.

* * *

Rodney had never felt so sick in his entire life. They were forced back down the mountain at a fast, dangerous pace, and he couldn't see Sheppard anywhere. They were pushed into the town square, where from what he could see, the entire village had gathered . . .

With Sheppard. Bound, hand and foot, held up by two hulks that gave Ronon a run for his money . . .

"No." _ This can't be happening. This can't be—_

The man who had been watching Rodney left him in the care of the others, and advanced on Sheppard with his sword drawn.

"No!" Rodney yelled.

The man was speaking to the crowd. "—as we watched, he invoked the Demon Powers of the cave—" he pulled his sword back, "—and his life is forfeit!"

Sheppard's eyes locked on Rodney's across the crowd—_ No, this isn't happening, it's a dream, someone help! _ —then Sheppard's eyes unfocused and his head jerked forward as the villager lunged into him, sword no longer held back . . .

. . . and Ronon's knife was in the back of the man's head, and Teyla was knocking Rodney to the ground and everyone was fighting and the villagers were cheering as Rodney saw Sheppard fall and lay unmoving in the crowd . . .

The villagers had plenty of swords, but they were no match for Teyla and Ronon in an unconfined space. Rodney crawled away from the crowd, unarmed and not yet a target, and hid behind a barrel—where was Sheppard? There—!

He could barely glimpse the Colonel's limp form. _ God, no!_ He panicked. _ I have to—but I can't fight—God, where's backup when you need it?—If he's dead I'll burn this place to the ground—!_

The image of the drones in the puddlejumper flashed crazily in his mind—_ I could sure use a pickup right now,_ his mind screamed hysterically—!

Then the puddlejumper was there, uncloaked, hovering over the brawl. The townspeople panicked and scattered, and Rodney was too shocked to register that Teyla was dragging him by his arm over to the ship and Ronon was carrying Sheppard's body like a child and they were both yelling at him to set it down and open the door and he couldn't do that, he couldn't fly the damn thing, not without Sheppard, and they had to get him back to Atlantis—

The puddlejumper settled on the ground with a thud and the hatch flew open. Teyla shoved him inside and into the pilot's chair. "Fly, Rodney!" she screamed as she and Ronon bent over Sheppard.

"I don't—I can't—"

"Fly or he dies!"

_ He's alive? _ Rodney grasped the controls. "Come on, you piece of shit," he muttered under his breath. The world narrowed to him and the controls and Sheppard dying behind him.

The puddlejumper shuddered but remained on the ground. "Come on!" he shouted. "Fly, damn you!"

"Rodney!"

"I'm trying! I just—I've never—"

Everything else melted into the background. _ Please, please fly . . . fly for him, not for me; he's dying back there, and we _have_ to get to Atlantis; please please please God fly for him . . . _

The puddlejumper shot forward, faster than Rodney thought possible.

"Dial the gate!" he shouted, not caring which one of them responded—_ That's it, just a little farther, don't die don't die don't die . . . _

The gate loomed before them, activating just as they shot through and into the gateroom. Then Ronon was shouting for Beckett and Elizabeth was panicking and Teyla was trying to calm everyone down while her own face was ashen with fear and there was a stretcher and Sheppard was on it and gone and Rodney couldn't hear anything anymore, and why was everyone so far away and it was getting so bright, he couldn't see . . .

* * *

"Rodney? Rodney, can you hear me?" Carson's voice was far away, and Rodney wanted to sleep.

"Leave me alone," he mumbled, or maybe he just thought it.

"He's coming around." Carson sounded relieved.

Rodney opened his eyes. Elizabeth, Carson and Teyla stood over him, expressions of relief and worry colliding on their faces.

"How do you feel, Rodney?" asked Carson, concerned.

"Terrible. My head hurts."

"You hit it when you fainted," said Teyla sympathetically.

"When I—Sheppard!" Rodney sat bolt-upright. "Where is—is he—"

"John's going to be fine," Elizabeth said, smiling for the first time.

"Carson got to him just in time. He lost a lot of blood and it will take a while for the wound to heal—"

"Stomach wounds are especially nasty," interjected Carson.

"—but he's going to be okay." Elizabeth squeezed his shoulder. "Thanks to you. I heard what you did." Her smile was genuine and warm. "Nice flying."

Rodney sank back into the pillows, weak with relief. _ Thank God. _ "Can I—can I see him—?"

Carson nodded. "If you feel well enough to be up and about, I don't see why not. He's unconscious, and will probably be out for another day or so."

Rodney let Teyla help him out of bed and across the infirmary. Sheppard looked drawn and pale—_ no shit, blood loss will do that to you_ —but he was breathing. Rodney felt a wave of vertigo wash over him.

"I think I'd better lay down again," he said weakly, not taking his eyes off Sheppard as Carson ushered him back onto his bed.

_ That was—that was close, _ Rodney thought as the darkness claimed him.

* * *

Carson released him when he woke up, with the strict orders to come back immediately if he felt any effects. Rodney's bump on the head hadn't been severe, but Carson was worried about shock; Rodney assured him he'd come back if he had to. Then he was sitting alone on his bed, staring at the wall; his throat was not closed, his stomach was not sick, and he absolutely was not crying.

* * *

Sheppard woke up the next day, Teyla said. He was being a terrible patient, Ronon added with a grin. He wanted to make sure you were all right, Elizabeth said with a slight note of reproach in her tone. The equations can wait if you need to take a break, Zelenka suggested . . .

Rodney nodded absently at them all, eyes glued to his computer, but his stomach was churning and he felt light-headed and what business was it of theirs, anyway? The equations were important, really important, and then he had analyses to run and projections to make, and of course it was wonderful that Sheppard was recovering so quickly but he really couldn't be bothered . . .

And every evening—or rather, middle of the night, when the lab was quiet and he was finally alone—when he found himself outside the infirmary, he was always surprised, and he never went inside, because what was the point, anyway?

* * *

Sheppard resumed light duties after a week an a half. He was city-bound, however, and under strict orders to avoid the practice room at all costs. Rodney couldn't imagine what he was doing with himself; he wasn't in the lab, he wasn't in the mess hall, he wasn't anywhere and yet everyone was talking about how well he was doing and how nice it was to have him back. Rodney smiled along with everyone and avoided eye contact.

Their team was essentially off-duty for the duration of Sheppard's convalescence. Ronon and Teyla tagged along with other teams for kicks, and sparred, he supposed. He didn't see them much, either; he didn't really see anyone. Carson asked if he wanted to get dinner, sometimes, but there was always more work to do, or if there wasn't he was tired and his room was dark and warm and safe. He was cold a lot, these days.

He was lying in bed, wrapped in as many blankets as he could find, staring into the darkness when his door opened. He burrowed down into the blankets, not wanting to see whoever had come to check up on him—when would they stop that? It was getting aggravating . . .

"Rodney." Sheppard's voice was quiet, questioning, painfully hesitant.

Rodney sat up. Sheppard's body was outlined against the light of the doorway. Rodney couldn't see his face.

Sheppard moved out of the doorway. "You didn't—you didn't come to see me."

Rodney's mouth moved, but no sound came out. He was frozen, staring at the dark form staring at him, wanting to say something, wanting to be anywhere but there.

Sheppard sat on the edge of the bed, still silhouetted by the light. For a long time neither of them spoke. Rodney shut his eyes.

_ It's a game. _

Sheppard's hand caressed his cheek, once.

_ It's all just a game. _

Sheppard's lips pressed against his unmoving mouth, searching for a response.

_ Only a game. _

Sheppard's tears fell onto Rodney's hands as Rodney clenched the blankets in his lap.

_ And the thing about a game is . . . _

Sheppard's body disappeared as the door hissed shut behind him.

_. . . you can stop playing when it's not fun anymore. _

Rodney didn't open his eyes. He didn't have to.

The room was dark all the same.

* * *

"You've got to be kidding." Rodney's tone was flat.

Elizabeth looked guilty. "That's what they said."

"And you believed them?" Rodney pressed, incredulous.

Elizabeth shrugged. "It looks genuine. The Eldest seemed authentic, the rest of the villagers were contrite, and Rodney—" she fixed him with a serious gaze—"they're offering us a ZPM."

Somehow, the villagers had figured out how to send messages through the Stargate. No one had expected that; likewise, no one had expected that their message would contain an apparently heart-felt apology from a man calling himself the Eldest, or the offer of a reconciliation feast accompanied by the gifting of a ZMP.

Rodney swallowed. His teammates were silent. Ronon looked stoic, Teyla contemplative, and Sheppard . . . was completely closed off.

"Well?" Elizabeth pressed, gesturing to the group. "What do you think?"

"Are you serious? You can't possibly be considering this!" Rodney's tone was sharp even for him.

Elizabeth looked uncomfortable. "They said you could take another team. Lorne's. They don't care if you're armed, they encourage you to stay in contact with us at all times—"

"They tried to kill us. They almost killed—" Rodney's voice was rising. He broke off.

"I know." Elizabeth was subdued. "I just wanted to let you know about the offer." She looked at each of them in turn. "A ZPM." Then she turned back to her desk, and didn't look up again as they left her office.

* * *

"I can't believe she was actually considering dealing with _ those people _ again—"

"We should do it." Sheppard's voice was soft.

Rodney stared at him. "What?"

"We should do it. It's worth the risk."

"Are you out of your mind?"

"I . . . would be inclined to agree with Colonel Sheppard," Teyla said slowly. "We do not know if we will ever be able to come by another ZPM with so much ease. This may be our best chance."

"Yeah," said Ronon. He patted his ever-present stunner. "Besides, this time, we can take them."

Rodney looked at all of them like they were Wraith. "Need I remind you of how very wrong Elizabeth can be? The Genii alone, for God's sake—! And you're all prepared to go along with this without question?"

"Hardly," snapped Sheppard. "Listen, McKay, they stabbed me. I'm not about to forget that, or forgive them. But if me making nice with the psychopaths gets us a ZPM, it's worth one evening of fake smiles and simmering rage, don't you think?"

"I—"

"Besides, we're going to be armed. To the teeth. And so is Lorne's team." Sheppard had made up his mind. "We're going tonight. Be ready in five hours."

* * *

Rodney still couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe it when they were in the puddlejumper. He couldn't believe it when they landed in the town square. He couldn't believe it when they were solemnly greeted by an old, regal-looking man who welcomed them as friends to his land and offered them the traditional feast of allies, friends, and family.

After surreptitiously testing his food for poison—_ thank God for travel-sized chemistry sets_ —and finding nothing untoward or pertaining to citrus, Rodney was relaxing. Conditionally. He still refused the spirits and wine offered, citing work in the morning, and ate lightly for once to keep up his guard.

The feast was disturbingly pleasant. The food was excellent and the entertainment—the requisite dances and homemade instrument acts—was charming. Rodney was enjoying himself ever so slightly, but he still didn't think he'd be able to fully relax until they were back on Atlantis with the ZPM securely installed. After several hours, his teammates and Lorne's team looked about ready to leave—_ you can only make nice for so long_ —and the Eldest stood up and bowed to them graciously.

"I apologize again for the actions of my people, and I hope that this feast has been an adequate demonstration of our good will towards you and your people." He gestured, and a man brought forth. . .

. . . the ZPM. Rodney held his breath. _ I didn't actually think they'd be willing to part with it. _

The Eldest turned to Sheppard. "Now, my friends, if you will please place your weapons on the table, we will perform the Gifting Ceremony—"

"I think we'll keep out weapons, thanks," said Sheppard sharply.

The Eldest looked surprised. "We cannot perform the Gifting Ceremony with those who are armed," he said reasonably. "It will only take a moment, and then you may retrieve them."

He stood patiently, waiting for Sheppard to decide.

The silence stretched out. Rodney could almost see the thoughts flashing behind Sheppard's guarded eyes as he weighed his options, the potential risks, costs, benefits, outcomes . . .

He nodded once, sharply, and laid his gun and his stunner down on the table. Reluctantly, the other Atlanteans followed suit.

The Eldest smiled at them. "I thank you for your trust and good will." He took the ZPM and stepped forward, offering it to Sheppard. "May this device serve as a symbol of friendship between your people and mine until the stars fall and the oceans rise up to cover the land."

"Um, yeah." Sheppard took the ZPM and handed it off to Lorne. "Thanks."

The Eldest bowed and smiled again. "Take him."

_ Bows and arrows. Of course. What kind of idiot would assume they only had knives? _ The feast tables had been hiding the weapons. Rodney felt a sick sense of déjà vu as the villagers trained their sights on the group. One man stepped forward and pinned Sheppard's arms behind him.

"As is customary in the Gifting Ceremony," continued the Eldest, still smiling, "we thank you for your Gift of Equal Value. We hope you derive as much pleasure from what we have gifted you as we shall from what you have gifted us."

"This was _ not _ part of the offer!" snarled Sheppard, struggling. The Eldest regarded him with disdain. "You did not honestly believe we would harbor a demon, then allow it to leave unchallenged?"

"I'm not a demon!"

"Of course." He turned to the rest of the Atlanteans. "You are free to return—under guard, of course—to your world. Unfortunately, we cannot return your weapons to you, but I am sure a people such as yours will have no difficulty replenishing them."

Lorne's fingers twitched as he eyed his gun. "We're not leaving without Colonel Sheppard!"

The Eldest's eyes grew cold. "You have no choice. Escort our guests back to their ship."

The villagers began to advance slowly. The Atlanteans stood their ground. _ We're unarmed, outnumbered, and they have Sheppard hostage. Those idiots can't be thinking to fight_ —But they couldn't watch Sheppard die—_ again_ —and dammit, he hated it when Elizabeth was wrong—

"Go." Sheppard's head was high. "Get back to the ship and get out of here."

"Colonel—"

"You've got the ZPM." He looked at them and lied. "I'll be fine. Get out while they're letting you go."

"You should listen to him," put in the Eldest coldly. "My patience is not endless."

"Colonel—"

"That's an _ order_, Major."

Lorne's face went blank. He and his men took a step back.

"Sheppard—" "John—" Ronon and Teyla spoke simultaneously.

"Please. Go." Sheppard was being brave; Rodney felt bile rise in the back of his throat. Helpless, Ronon and Teyla stepped backwards with the men. _ Ronon's got to have knives hidden all over his body—_

But if he made any sudden movements, the villagers would turn them all into pincushions. Rodney began to walk sideways toward the door, never taking his eyes off of Sheppard—

—until he saw the Eldest. The man was not directly in his path, but if Rodney read the angles correctly, it would only take a single quick step and the Eldest would be in between him and all the villagers . . . hanging at his side, his hand brushed the standard-issue utility knife they all carried.

_ Shit. _ Rodney turned his head slowly, and locked eyes with Ronon. Ronon's eyes scanned him, noted his position, read his mind . . . Rodney took a deep breath, and nodded once.

With no outside warning, Ronon "fell." Flinging himself backwards, he flew head over heels, cursing at the top of his lungs. The villagers turned as a body towards the diversion, and Rodney leapt forward and—

"Nobody move!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. "I'll kill him!" His arm was around the Eldest's neck, the knife pressed against the aged throat even as the withered hands clutched his arm. "I mean it! Let Colonel Sheppard go or I'll kill him!"

The room was absolutely still. Rodney could hear his own breath ragged in his chest. _ Breathe. Breathe. I'm calm. I'm cool. I'm in control . . . _

Sheppard was the first to break the silence. "Rodney! Are you nuts? What the hell are you doing? Let him go and get everyone out of here before they kill you all!"

"Sheppard—" Rodney's eyes were showing too much white, but his voice was steady—"Shut up. The rest of you—choose. Now."

"We will never give up the demon!" gasped the Eldest.

The townspeople shifted nervously. The grunt holding Sheppard looked worried.

Rodney had neither the time nor the patience. "Fine. You want to be difficult? Here's what's going to happen. My friends and I are going to walk back to our ship. Once we get there, we're going to leave and go back to our world that's full-to-bursting with demons. Now, either we will take that one—" he nodded at Sheppard—"with us when we go, or I will personally feed your precious Eldest to them myself as soon as we land."

Without waiting for a response, he began to walk backwards. "Major Lorne? I'd appreciate it if someone would make sure I don't trip and ruin this whole scenario." He felt the eyes of every single villager on him, just _waiting_ for him to falter. . .

"—A gun. I'd also like a gun." Armed now with a gun in place of the knife, and with two nervous marines spotting him, Rodney followed his re-armed friends out of the hall. The villagers hesitated for a fraction of a second before following. The man holding Sheppard led them, and Rodney refused to look Sheppard in the face. _ Later. Later you can yell at me all you want, as long as you're alive to do it. _

* * *

The villagers stood in a silent semicircle around the puddlejumper. Lorne's team—along with the ZPM—was already airborne at Rodney's recommendation—if this all went south, he wanted aerial backup—and Teyla and Ronon were in the door of the hatch.

"Let him go," Rodney demanded.

"Release the Eldest first," retorted the man holding Sheppard.

Rodney ground his teeth in frustration. "Do you not see our ship? It's right up there, ready to blow you away if you don't release Colonel Sheppard—"

"They would kill you along with us."

"True. If they shot at us down here. But you don't let him go, and I'll order them to destroy your entire village." Rodney's voice was dead.

Sheppard looked at him in shock. A dim part of Rodney's mind was vaguely surprised that he'd made the threat; an even dimmer part was more surprised that he'd have no problem carrying it out.

"Very well." The man said. "I will release him—now." He let Sheppard go. Rodney immediately released the Eldest. The two prisoners glared at each other as they passed . . .

Motion from the side caught Rodney's eye as a villager standing a few feet away from him reached down into his jacket—

Rodney fired six rounds into the man's chest. Blood exploded out, spattering Rodney's gun, hands, face.

The man crumpled.

The crowd surged forward as Sheppard, cursing, shoved him bodily back into the puddlejumper and the door slammed shut behind them. "Let's get the hell out of here!" Sheppard yelled as he flew into the pilot's seat.

Rodney nodded dumbly as his legs gave out and he fell to the floor. He sat, silent, completely unresponsive to his teammates until they were back on Atlantis and home and safe and alive.

* * *

Carson was really, really worried about him. Rodney had promised again to come back in the morning—_ I'll be fine, it's just a little post-homicidal shock, is all_ —and been released under protest. He'd gone to the mess hall but for once been unable to eat. He'd stared dumbly at his plate, nodding along with all the praises people he'd never spoken to before were heaping on him, and escaped as soon as he could. He sat, alone, on his bed, his mind as blank as the wall that filled his vision.

He didn't even blink when the door opened to the side of him. Sheppard burst in, radiating anger and energy and vitality and Rodney wanted to shrink away and hide in the dark but he couldn't move.

"Why did you do that? What the hell were you thinking?" Sheppard was pacing in front of him, step step step turn step step step turn.

"What if it hadn't worked? If you'd gotten everyone killed? If you'd gotten yourself killed? How in the hell can you risk everyone's lives for—God! I couldn't live with myself if you'd died; there's no way in hell you should have done that—I told you all to leave—!" He was still now, facing Rodney, trembling. Rodney flashed back to their first night together—_ "You weren't playing me?" "Jesus, McKay, I don't play games!" _ —and something snapped.

"Shut up!' he shouted. "Just—shut the fuck up!"

Sheppard paused mid-breath, stricken.

"You're so fucking self-righteous! You think that you're the most important thing in the world, that what you want trumps everything else—!"

"What? Rodney—"

"I said shut up!" Rodney was yelling, screaming—"You have no right to trap me like that, to _want_ me, to _force_ me to be wanted—!"

"Calm down! I just meant that you put yourself in danger; _I'm_ the team leader; _I'm_ supposed to protect _you_!"

"I don't want your protection!" He was off the bed, in Sheppard's face, forcing the other man to back down, _ forcing_ —"I don't want your protection, I don't want your trap, and I don't want you! You'll wrap your arms around me and never let me go and make me do things I never thought I'd do and oh God I didn't even see the knife I don't even know if he had a knife but I couldn't let them kill you again and I just pulled the trigger and I couldn't stop and his blood was on my face and my hands and I kept firing—"

And he was on the floor, yelling and sobbing and rocking and Sheppard was rocking with him and it was a trap, just like he'd said, and Sheppard's arms were around him and they'd never let him go ever again—

"Shh, shh, Rodney, it's going to be okay, you're going to be okay, shh." Sheppard was whispering nothing and everything into his hair and Rodney sobbed and sobbed and clutched at the arms holding him and pressed his face into Sheppard's neck and he needed to be warm, right now, right here—

He twisted in Sheppard's arms and pressed the other man back down, onto the floor and they were in each other's arms and he was kissing Sheppard so hard he thought their mouths would merge and fuse and he'd never be able to stop kissing him—

"Rodney—" panted Sheppard. "Don't—you don't want this—"

"Don't you dare—" he breathed into Sheppard's mouth, "tell me what I want."

He kissed Sheppard's mouth, face, neck frantically, touching, tasting, taking everything and giving more than he ever thought he could. Sheppard writhed under him, and Rodney shoved his leg between Sheppard's, grinding them together in bursts of heat and desperation—

Sheppard pushed him away slightly, creating room to speak. "Rodney. No."

"What?"

"Stop."

Rodney went cold.

Sheppard sat up and reached out, running a finger over Rodney's parted lips. "If you want this—if you really want this—then we're going to do it right."

Rodney nodded mutely. Sheppard stood and extended his hand, pulling Rodney up to his feet. Their faces were inches apart, and Rodney moved to close the distance, but Sheppard held him back.

Sheppard inclined his head slowly, until their mouths were barely touching. "Do you want this?" he breathed,

"Y-yes—" Rodney felt shivers run up and down his body as Sheppard's lips traced light patterns on his own. He could feel Sheppard's small smile, and Sheppard kissed him.

This kiss was slow, deep, gentle—Sheppard's tongue brushed his lips and they parted slightly. Rodney felt a shock as their tongues touched and explored, teasing and caressing. It may have lasted for minutes, or hours, and Rodney was aching when Sheppard finally ended the kiss. His hands were on Rodney's arms, and he propelled Rodney backwards, slowly, onto the bed. His hands ran up and down Rodney's arms; Rodney had no idea simple touch could be that good, and he moaned. Then Sheppard's hands brushed his waistband and gathered his shirt, pulling it up and over his head and throwing it away.

Rodney was hit with a wave of self-consciousness; he wanted to cover himself, but Sheppard's eyes drank him in, lips half parted, like Rodney was football and Ferris wheels and popcorn and—

No. Like Rodney was . . . Rodney. Sheppard ducked his head again and they kissed, and Rodney's hands found Sheppard's shirt and then it was gone too, and it was Rodney's turn stare.

He'd never really looked at another man like this; he could tell when a guy was cut, or ripped, or could stand to work out more, but he'd never thought that seeing another man's chest heaving with emotion and another man's eyes dark with lust would make him want to—

He reached up and pulled Sheppard's head down, rolling him so that Rodney was on top and Sheppard was on his back. Sheppard made a soft, surprised noise that changed into a series of gasps as Rodney kissed his way down his stomach. His hands undid Sheppard's belt, and Sheppard arched up as Rodney slid the pants off and sent them to join the discarded shirts.

Sheppard lay before him, naked, glistening, eyes half closed, lips parted. Rodney's eyes locked on his as he lowered his head slowly, and took him into his mouth.

Rodney had really, really never done this before, but the noises Sheppard was making were nothing if not encouraging. Rodney moved slowly, surely, wanting to prolong the sight of Sheppard writhing and gasping and moaning his name for as long as he could—

Rodney stopped, withdrew his mouth, and Sheppard cried out. "No, Rodney, please, don't stop—!"

Rodney moved up and whispered in his ear. Sheppard's eyes flew wide, and his chest heaved—"Are you sure—"

"John." He met Sheppard's naked eyes. "I'm sure." He let Sheppard lay him back down, and only gasped a little when a moment later Sheppard's now-slippery fingers entered him.

"It's going to hurt," Sheppard whispered, kissing him.

"I want this," Rodney whispered back.

"I'll go slow."

Sheppard was slow, and gentle, and it did hurt but Rodney welcomed the pain because he was alive, and he was here, and he was feeling. Then it stopped hurting, and felt good, but not good enough, and he told Sheppard to stop being so careful, and then it hurt again and was amazing and God he never knew it could be like that and right after he came he felt Sheppard come inside him and his vision went white and patchy and there was ringing in his ears and he never, ever wanted it to stop . . .

Rodney didn't think he'd ever be able to let go of Sheppard again. They lay, drained in every way, barely able to breathe and even less able to move away.

Sheppard's cheek was pressing against his, his mouth against Rodney's ear. "I love you," he said, his voice scratchy.

Rodney opened his mouth. "I—"

"Shh. Don't." Sheppard kissed him once, slowly, and then drifted off to sleep with a gentle smile on his lips.

Rodney pulled him in closer, listening to the sound of his breathing. He rested his cheek on Sheppard's hair.

"I—" He stopped. He couldn't—couldn't. Not yet. But—

"John," he whispered.

And maybe that was okay. Maybe, maybe, it was the same thing.

He felt his eyelids grow heavy, as sleep claimed him as well.

_ I'm not playing anymore._

Fin.


End file.
